Page 80 of Sixty Days Of Summer

Finally, I gather the strength to walk away, and it feels like a physical ache deep in my chest. The hardest part is making myself move away from him when all I truly want is to be close, to feel that undeniable connection we once shared. But I remind myself that I need to be strong.

Walter and his band have already left the greenroom, leaving just our band, along with Poppy and Alex. Exhausted, I collapse onto the couch. As Ace moves across the room, I make a conscious effort not to watch him.

We’re over halfway through this tour, with still eighteen more shows ahead, and I have no fucking clue what’s next after this. Will this experience change anything for me, or will it be the same old story—always living in Nate's shadow? The thought of auditioning and facing rejection time and time again is infuriating, and the idea of returning to that reality fills me with dread. But then again, this has always been my life: surroundedby men who only want to fuck me, who want to use me for my brother’s connections, and of course, me constantly feeling utterly frustrated by the lack of opportunities for my music career.

I down my drink just as Theo approaches, checking to see if I’m ready to head out to the bus. With a sigh, I push myself off the couch, toss my plastic cup into the recycling bin, and follow him toward the door. I know it won’t be long before the rest of the band piles onto the bus, but for now, the thought of retreating to my bunk sounds inviting—just a chance to escape and gather my thoughts until we arrive at the next venue.

Chapter 29

Ace

Fuck this shit. Her constantly ignoring me is driving me fucking insane. That fake-ass smile she throws my way whenever I try to interact with her, I fucking hate it. I want the real one. The one that lights up her face and tells me I still matter to her. The one that makes me feel like maybe I’m not as fucked up as I think I am. I need to fix this, to set things right, and soon.

All day, ever since I returned from the pool, I've been caught in a battle between doing what’s right and pursuing what I truly want. Maybe I should just let her go. Perhaps that’s the best choice for her because, let’s be honest, I’m a fucking mess. All the broken pieces of me will only drag her down. Yet every timeI entertain that idea, the thought of losing her feels like someone has shoved a dagger through my heart.

How the hell am I supposed to do any of this?

Scarlet and Theo left for the bus before I even had a shot at talking to her. So now here I am stuck on this fucking bus, slouched on the couch, half-listening to Xander and Poppy’s conversation, barely pretending to care about whatever bullshit they’re talking about. Theo’s on the phone with Nate, going on about their usual shit. Alex is out cold in one of the bunks at the back of the bus, and though I haven’t seen Scarlet since we boarded, I assume she’s back there too, keeping her distance.

It’s late, and we’ve been sitting here for hours, talking about pointless shit. But I can feel it—the damn elephant in the room. Everyone’s tiptoeing around it, trying to figure out how to bring it up without pissing me off. But no one’s got the guts to say it. Not yet, anyway.

I down another beer, barely tasting it, and nod at something Xander just said. If he were to ask me anything right now, I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what he was talking about. My mind’s too far gone, wrapped up in thoughts of Scarlet. All I can do is watch him and Poppy and wonder how the hell he does it—how he manages to keep her happy, make her smile, and not some fake ass smile but a genuine one. The kind that lights up the whole damn room, not like the fake-ass smile Scarlet's been throwing my way lately. It’s killing me, knowing I’m the reason for that.

My eyes dart to the door as Scarlet stumbles out, looking all sleepy and absolutely fucking adorable. She glances around, offering everyone a smile—a real one this time. The kind that isn’t forced or hiding behind a wall of bullshit. That fake smile? That’s reserved just for me, apparently. Her hair’s a mess, exactly the way I like it, but I can’t help feeling disappointed that her loose-fitting t-shirt covers too much of her body. Still, thoselong, perfectly tattooed legs captivate me like a magnet, and I can’t resist letting my eyes wander down them.

“Nate says hello!” Theo shouts out to her.

“Tell him I said hello back,” she replies with a soft smile.

Poppy glances at her, “Did you want to come join us?”

“Thanks, but I just came to grab a bottle of water,” Scarlet says, moving toward the mini fridge. “Then I was going to head back to bed.”

The idea that she might be avoiding me—avoiding being in the same room as me—fucking stings.

As she moves to the fridge, I down the rest of my beer, trying desperately to distract myself from the ache in my chest.

Leaning forward, I add the empty bottle to the collection on the table, a silent testament to my futile efforts to dull the pain. Each bottle represents a little piece of me I’m trying to drown, but nothing seems to work.

“Ace,” Poppy’s voice slices through my thoughts, pulling me from the chaos in my head.

I glance over to find her and Xander watching me, his arm draped around her protectively. There’s a knowing look in their eyes that makes my stomach twist.

“Go talk to her,” Poppy urges, her tone gentle yet firm.

I shake my head, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what the fuck to say to her.”

“Anything will be fine. Trust me on this,” Poppy insists, her eyes soft but filled with determination. “Please.”

With a deep sigh, I push myself off the couch and make my way toward the kitchen area, slipping past Theo. My heart hammers with each step, feeling heavier as I get closer. She’s bent over, digging through the fridge, and my gaze drifts to those tiny sleep shorts that hug her ass perfectly. My cock reacts instantly, reminding me just how much I fucking want her.

With a bottle of water in hand, she straightens up and closes the fridge door. When she turns to face me, her eyes widen slightly, as if caught off guard. For a split second, we just stare at each other, the air thick with everything unsaid.

“Hey,” I mutter, hating how weak it sounds, but it’s all I can manage right now. Every word I want to spill gets stuck in my throat. I’m not even sure what the hell I’m supposed to say, but one thing’s crystal clear—I want her. I crave this connection we’ve got, no matter how fucking complicated it may be.

Her tired eyes meet mine, silently questioning what I’m doing. I sense her walls beginning to build up, and it fucking kills me.

“Can we talk?” I ask, feeling the weight of every word. I know whatever comes next has to mean something; it can't be the same old bullshit we’ve been dancing around.

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